When There Is No More Room In Hell
by Space Mutineer
Summary: 99% of them dead, but there's still one jackass alive with a spray can. And this is his story. Emmett Letham was fifteen when the decomposing corpses filled the street. Three years have passed and things are looking grim, that is until he meets another group of stragglers lead by a women named Warren.


Cold winds blew in from the north, calling for another layer of clothing and announcing to Bellingham, Washington that fall was bearing down. Worse than the arrival of fall, the beginning of school lurked around the dark, dingy corner, ready with a rusted blade to puncture the flesh of anyone from ages six to eighteen. Even with the soul-crushing threat of the new school year lingering in the air, the Letham family had decided to have a family-bonding day, and planned to go out for lunch together, followed by ice cream.

Lunch went by without incident; the only stand-out moment was when the waitress walked over, and the family realized there was no strict dress code for servers. The weather was calling for people to bundle, and yet the women still wore a shirt with a plunging neckline and a skirt that barely covered her thighs.

Outside, the bitter wind blew abandoned leaves across the pavement. One of the fraternal twins, a fifteen-year-old who had reached the age when family bonding time seems less important, had wandered ahead and was staring mindlessly up at a half-constructed office building. His twin sister had stayed behind with the family; she could tolerate their father's chatter long enough to make it three blocks to the ice cream parlour. Emmett, on the other hand, lacked the patience. As he stared up at the building, significantly ahead of the rest of his family, he began considering whether or not it would be amusing to try and climb up the side of it.

Just then, a gargling man stumbled toward him from inside, through the clear sheets and rubble. Emmett's dark eyes flickered to the oddly green stranger, and then back to the exterior of the building. When the man continued his unsteady journey toward him with outstretched arms, Emmett realized it was too difficult to keep ignoring him, and finally decided to do something about it. "Excuse me, sir," he said abruptly,"But may I bother to ask you what the fuck you are doing?"

From behind him the teenager heard the familiar squawk of his sister's voice. "Emmett! First of all, you don't talk to people like that, and secondly, you aren't supposed to swear! Dad doesn't like it."

Emmett turned to her, raising his finger and his eyebrows as he prepared to go off on her. His sharp reply was cut off before it began; the strange man from inside the building had grabbed his shoulders from behind, and was snapping his teeth at Emmett's neck. Emmett reacted on instinct. He did the only thing a teenage rebel could do: he whirled around and punched the man in the face.

The blow had no effect on his attacker. Emmett pushed the man off and jumped back, grabbing one of the metal support bars and swinging it as hard as he could. He kicked the man over then let go of the bar, skidding in the loose dirt. The man stood back up, his construction helmet falling from his bearded head, and Emmett caught sight of what looked like a faint bite mark on the worker's neck. Emmett blinked, momentarily stunned and confused.

"RENEGADE!"

Emmett's head whipped around just in time to catch a stick that had been thrown to him by his sister. Gripping it tightly, he turned back to face the rabid stranger. The man was stumbling toward him again, reaching out his arms. Emmett swung the stick with his full strength, hitting his attacker in the chest, causing a strange rattling sensation to shiver up his arms. He backed away, but the worker continued to stumble forward, and Emmett's hand trembled on the stick as he took a deep breath. He swung the stick again, this time hitting the man in the head, and forcing him back with a well-placed kick. The man lost his balance and tripped backward. He fell hard, impaling himself on a sharp, metal pole.

The stick fell out of Emmet's grasp and bounced off the ground. Emmett raised his hand to his mouth in shock; the world was moving in slow motion as the deranged man stood up again, freeing himself from the pole that had skewered him. Without seeming to notice the wound that would have felled any other person, the man staggered toward Emmett again, making growling and gurgling sounds in his throat.

A weak, fearful sound left Emmett's lips as the man lurched nearer. Suddenly, he found himself being slung over someone's shoulder. It was his mother; she was running, and all he could see behind them were five or six greenish people converging on where they had been. The people hobbled and lurched after them at an elevated pace, joined by the impaled man who had first attacked Emmett.

Back at their home, Emmett sat on the floral sofa, listening closely for any sound from outside that could signal the creatures had followed them to their house. His mother sounded as frantic as Emmett felt. "We have to get my mother, Floyd!" She was telling her husband fearfully. "She'll die out there alone, and you know damn well she has weapons, more weapons than we do here! How can we beat those things to death with a fucking antique rug?"

Emmett's sister looked toward the stairs and frowned at the use of such harsh language. Despite all of this, she was still as sensitive as ever.

"Roslyn, dear, you know that rug looks really good with our wallpaper! And what if she's already dead? Or... or infected?"

"Then we fucking kill her, okay? We kill my mother and take the weapons! We can bury her outside..."

Emmett looked at his sister, wanting to give her some measure of reassurance. "It'll be okay, Quinta," he whispered, flinching at his parents' raised voices.

"And who will kill her? Not you, you know you couldn't!"

"She's secluded, she works out of town! We can work this out - if anything, we can hold up there for a while, it's better than here for sure!"

"But... I... Fine..."

Several short minutes later, they were rumbling down the road in their small car, much like the day had started. However, now the atmosphere was far darker, the radio was static on all broadcast frequencies, and the only sound was the hum of the motor, the loud screams, low groans, and the distant explosions throughout the city. The car sped along the winding road until turning off onto an unpaved driveway, and bumping to a stop in front of a worn-down house. Trees towered over the house, giving it a distinct cabin-in-the-woods feeling.

Emmett stepped from the car, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. This house contained so many good memories, but now for some reason it felt as though it was looming over them, like it was about to tell them something terrible. Swallowing his discomfort, Emmett followed his mother to the front door of the house. He knocked once, then grabbed the key from underneath the doormat. After he unlocked the door, he and his mother stepped inside.

His eyes travelled across the knick-knacks along the walls in the front hallway. Barely fully inside, movement caught his eye ahead of them. His grandmother was shuffling toward them, and without warning she made a violent lunge toward his mother. With a shrill scream, Roslyn pushed her back, grabbing an umbrella from a side bin and plunging it through the woman's eye socket. Panting, with blood spattered across her face, Roslyn looked at the rest of the family. "Emmett and I will go check the basement," she panted. "Floyd, you take Quinta and head upstairs. If you find anything, grab it." And with that, Emmett followed his mother into the basement.

Rows of non-perishables lined the walls on shelves, and there was a desk and chair with a cricket bat leaning up against it. Emmett let out a hum of amazement, then looked over at his mother, who had walked over to the desk and had practically fallen into the chair. "Mum?" He asked nervously; she only leaned her head down, and did not respond. "Mummy...?" For a moment he was scared, but then he noticed her moving again. "Are you feeling - ?" His question was cut short as his mother's head snapped up, and she lunged at him, snarling and snapping her teeth. Emmett grabbed the cricket bat as he quickly backed away. "DAD!" He yelled as she ran toward him. He swung the bat and struck her in the head. "Mum, no, please... not you..." With a great effort, he managed to pin her against the wall, struggling to hold her still. "Please..." he whispered, but she only snarled and gnashed her teeth, fighting his hold.

Then a single gunshot sounded, and he felt a sharp sting against his cheek. His mother went limp, and he let go of her; her body collapsed to the basement floor. After a moment, Emmett dropped the bat and stepped back nervously, turning slowly to see his father at the bottom of the basement stairs, a gun in his hand, his sister cowering behind him. "Daddy..."

The two of them stared at each other. It seemed like a long time before either of them moved, and when he finally did move, Emmett felt as though he was moving through cold water. He helped his father bury Roslyn and their grandmother in the back yard, side by side, and then he let the man sew up his cheek. There were barely any words spoken between them as they loaded up all the weapons they could find, and hit the road again. They would try for the summer home where Emmett had spent the best months of his childhood. It was the only safe place they knew for sure would still be there, and now it was only the three of them. They only had each other...


End file.
